


new york's got us

by orphan_account



Series: tomorrow they'll see what we are [10]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (attempt), (i do not know what to tag this please help), AKA nerds talking about stars, Astronomy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Post-Canon, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:10:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's become normal, after a time, for Jack and Crutchie to wake up next to each other(AKA these boys finally realize just what they mean to each other, albeit not quite the way either had imagined.)





	new york's got us

It's become normal, after a time, for Jack and Crutchie to wake up next to each other. Side-by-side, or back-to-back, or back-to-front, or curled up against each other, or so entwined that it's hard to tell at a glance where one body ends and the other begins. It's not really sexual, not yet — oh, certainly, there have been Those Moments where someone wakes up a bit hot and bothered, or a particularly steamy dream makes things a bit awkward, but they're the exception rather than the norm. No, in the moment, here and now rather than in the past or the possible-but-quickly-arriving future, it's just the need for closeness, the almost desperate need to wake up to breathing and warmth and a steady heartbeat instead of nothingness.

It's not just them, either. Or rather, it's not always just them. Sometimes, on a particularly bad day, Race might crawl under the covers with them (bearing the loaned gift of his extra blanket, faded blue-and-white-and-purple and smelling of cigars and something like home), and they'll lie on either side of him and let their breathing slowly align until none of them feel quite so alone. Other days it might be one of the younger boys, Elmer or Henry or little Buttons, looking for reassurance from what may as well be the closest thing to parental figures they have left (never mind that Specs is actually the oldest there, since he's always been quite satisfied to stay in the background and live his life without extra fuss — well, besides Romeo, who's probably enough fuss for the both of them).

Sometimes, Davey and Les will sleep over at the Lodging House, and Race will offer up his bed to the cause (and go share with Albert, the two of them thick as thieves and chatting silently with their hands well into the early grays of the morning). The first few times, Davey and Les sleep in Race's bed, quiet and still, but it's inevitable that they can't hold themselves separate for long, and the fourth time they stay the night both beds are pushed together and the four of them — Davey-and-Les-and-Jack-and-Crutchie — are all huddled together on the joined mattresses like a small, cozy family.

Katherine never sleeps with them, since their bedsharing is a little too undignified for a lady of her status (she _tries_ , she really does, and in many ways she _is_ one of them now, but there are some dignities she will likely never abandon fully), but she stays over once or twice and joins them on the Penthouse a few summer nights to watch the stars and lie on the slightly musty-smelling sheet that's just for the roof and no-where else. Things between her and Jack have been slipping apart, a bit like both of them have realized that whatever had pulled them together was just a stir of the moment and hadn't really been an indication of what their futures will hold. 

They pull apart slowly, like molasses and honey, but eventually the parting is done and they watch the stars together as friends. Jack points out his favorite constellations, Katherine speaks their names and finds individual stars, and Crutchie crafts elaborate stories about their travels and lives. When he accompanies them, Davey launches into spiels about the science of the night sky, and Les assigns each of them a star of their own. He gives himself the particularly bright star Deneb (also known, Davey notes, as Alpha Cygni for its place in the constellation of Cygnus, the swan), and to his brother and sister assigns Altair (the brightest star in Aquila, the eagle, because what _else_ is Davey but an eagle with bright eyes and quick instincts) and Vega (one of the brightest stars in the sky, a key point in the constellation Lyra, because Sarah Jacobs is smart and kind and his sister _deserves_ a star so bright), so that the three of them together form the Summer Triangle, as Davey describes it. Jack and Katherine and Crutchie agree, because the Jacobs siblings are wonderful and brilliant and bound for great things, all three of them, and they deserve no less.

But he can't just stop with them, so they all lie clustered together and watch as he points at stars, asks Davey for their names, asks Crutchie for their stories, and assigns each one to a member of their great extended family. Antares, reddish and named for the Greek god of war, goes to Spot (the King of Brooklyn who holds his position with immeasurable strength), while Spica (a bit oddly-shaped and a complimentary bluish tint) is assigned to Race. Specs and Romeo, never far to be found from each other, are given Castor and Pollux (Les rolls his eyes when Davey hesitantly explains that Castor and Pollux are supposed to be twins, and claims "as long as they're together, does it really matter _why_? _"_ , to which none of them can argue). After a bit of deliberation, Albert gets Arcturus (part of another triangle with Spica, as befitting friends as close as he and Race have grown to be), while Smalls is given Alcyone (the brightest of the Pleiades, nothing less than she deserves). Finch and Buttons become Betelgeuse and Rigel, two bright stars on opposite sides of Orion, while Elmer and Henry are given the two brightest stars in Leo (Denebola and Regulus, two young lions almost ready to roar).

Soon, it's just Jack and Katherine and Crutchie left, and Les has clearly left them for last because his face takes on a countenance of careful deliberation. It's late enough that they've all agreed he'll be sleeping in tomorrow (which will be Sunday, so it won't matter much), but his eyes are bright despite his weary yawns as he finally indicates the first of his final three choices. 

It's the star Davey had previously noted as Bellatrix, the woman warrior, and Les grins as he declares that it's the _only_ star good enough for Katherine. It may not be the brightest star in the sky, but it makes up part of the constellation of Orion, the Hunter, and they all agree that Katherine is definitely the hunter among them, whether searching for a news story or for justice. A woman warrior, indeed, and not a single one of them can find any argument with his logic. She flushes and smiles and accepts the assignment with honor.

Next, to everyone's surprise, is Jack, and the star he's given is Sirius. It's not hard to find, being the brightest star in the night sky, and everyone understands almost immediately why it's the star to associate with Jack Kelly. After all, he's the metaphorically brightest star among the newsies, the face of the strike and the instigator of the protest, the brightest light in a sky full of boys who work for a living and probably won't live beyond the age of thirty. _The Dog Star_ , as Davey announces its nickname to be, and Jack grins in mock offense and demands to know if Les is calling him a mutt, to which they all laugh.

The final star is given to Crutchie, and he sits up to gape at Les in surprise when the boy assigns him none other than Polaris, the Pole Star. It's far from the brightest in the night sky, outshone by many of the others, but as Les explains, "It's the star that leads everyone home, innit? And that's you, Crutchie! I mean, Jack's the _brightest_ star, but _you'se_ the reason he kept on bein' that, so you'se gotta be the North Star."

He grins, pleased with his explanation. From beside him, Davey chimes in with "You're why he came to the rally, after all!"

"And— well," Katherine's voice is oddly quiet, and she doesn't quite look at any of them as she also sits up and leans forward to rest her chin on her knees with a contemplative expression, "Crutchie's why he _did_ what he did at the rally, too."

"Huh?"

Crutchie had heard what happened at the rally, and he'd already made up his mind not to blame Jack for what had happened — Pulitzer was powerful and manipulative, and Jack had already been in a very _Bad Place_ at the time so it was understandable for him to try to find a way out (if anything, Crutchie had been nothing but _glad_ because Jack taking Pulitzer's way out meant he hadn't gone looking for his own Way Out instead). But now, with Katherine's voice taking a mournful tone, he suddenly wasn't sure what to think.

Pushing himself upright, Davey seems similarly confused. "What do you mean, Kath? Pulitzer offered him a deal, didn't he? Speak out against the strike, get to go to Santa Fe—"

" _Don't—_ " Before he can catch himself, Crutchie shakes his head quickly. "—just, no. Money wouldn'ta gotten Jack to— to _that place_." Some days, he can stomach Santa Fe, can convince himself it's not anything other than the go-west-young-man routine, but _today_ — at the Penthouse, mere feet from the place where Jack tried to reach Santa Fe the first time, _mere feet away from where he could try again and Crutchie might not be able to save him this time_ — just wasn't one of those days. 

Jack joins the rest of them in sitting up, talk of the stars long forgotten, to blink slowly at Crutchie. "How's that, Crutch? I mean, I ain't really plannin' on headin' West now, but Pulitzer's got more'n enough to buy a train ticket, told me as much himself."

He laughs, bitter. "Jacky, you an' I _both_ know your Santa Fe ain't— ain't really no place out West." And then, because he just needs to say it, because it's coiled and tight in his chest and he's bitter, _bitter_ and _scared_ , Crutchie raises one trembling hand to point towards the open air past the edge of the roof. "Your Santa Fe's about five feet that way, an' a long way down, an' I dunno if you remember but you'se almost went there and I had'ta pull you back."

" _I—_ "

Thankfully, Davey interrupts the somber mood by pulling Les close to his side and turning back to Katherine, speaking a little too loud as though it will cover up the silence (as though it will cover up the truth that can't be unsaid). "So, what didja _mean_ , about what happened at the rally?" 

"My father threatened you." Her voice is clipped and precise, and Jack and Crutchie both turn to her as well (Jack's eyes are still wide and _blue blue blue_ , and Crutchie knows they'll have to talk _later_ but now he needs to hear this). "You, and Les, and Crutchie. He said that if Jack didn't speak against the strike, he would have you all locked up in the Refuge for— I don't know how long _for_ , but likely a very long time. He threatened you, and he had _Snyder_ there— and I don't suppose I really know the whole story, only I know you've a bad history with him, Jack— and then he threw Jack down into the basement with the Delanceys all night."

Beside Crutchie, Jack forces a laugh, and he can almost see his friend beginning to curl in on himself. " _Yeah_ , that's how I knew 'bout that old press. Made better papes than it did a bed, an' that's considerin' that it wasn't too good at that _neither_."

He's curling in, smile beginning to crack at the seams, and both Davey and Katherine seem to realize it's time to go home. Crutchie pulls Jack to his feet, and gently tugs him along as they accompany their guests down the fire escape (Les is yawning, and Davey's decided to piggyback him home in case he falls asleep on the way) before bidding them farewell at the top of the stairs. The front door shuts quietly behind them, a hollow echo, and then they make their way back to their room. Race is elsewhere tonight — sleeping over with Spot and the Brooklyn boys, possibly, or chatting wordlessly with Albert in one of the rooms down the hall — so the room is dark and quiet as Crutchie slowly leads Jack over to their bed. They sit silently in the darkness, accompanied only by the sound of crickets through the window and the _slightly-too-loud_ , _slightly-uneven_ noise of Jack's breathing. It takes some time, but presently—

"What didja mean up there, 'bout Santa Fe bein' off the roof."

Sighing softly, Crutchie leans over and pulls Jack around to face him, knees bumping and fingers twining together. "Jacky, you remembers when you'se busted Race outta the Refuge, an' you got stuck there afterwards?"

"Shyeah, how could I _forget_."

And there's a bit of his Jack, a slight grin quirking at the side of his mouth and a note of sardonic amusement coloring his tone. Crutchie can't find it in himself to smile along. "Bout a week after you got out, I come home and find you drunk as a dog in the Penthouse. You'se was— you'se was so _happy_ , seemed like. Called me the sun, and you'se was all excited, talkin' bout this _place_ called Santa Fe. _Drawin'_ it, even. I thought it was just some funny thing you heard in one of the papes, an'—" His throat seizes up unexpectedly, and his voice comes through a bit strangled. " _—an' then you walked off the roof._ " 

Jack's face is barely visible, a pale sliver of shock in the darkness, and Crutchie can't meet his eyes because if he does he'll be swallowed by the _blue blue blue_. "You just— _stepped right off_ , like you'se was goin' for a _stroll_. I almost didn't catch you, an' I was so _scared_ , an'— an' you said you'se was gonna fly to Santa Fe. Said you hadta get out, go somewhere better, an' I couldn't— _I couldn't—_ " Tears catch in his eyes and his throat constricts, and he can't say anymore. Instead, he buries his face in his hands, because it's all crashing over him again just how _close_ he came to losing the one person who means the world to him, and _damn it this is why he tries not to think about it._

Because, just like he knew on the rooftop two years ago (and probably had known, on some unconscious layer, since the first time he'd said Jack's name and seen his friend light up like the sun itself), Crutchie knows he loves Jack. In love with, whatever folks want to call it, and he knows it's not normal, it's queer and strange and probably a horrible idea, but he's of no more mind to change it than he has the ability to (that is to say, _none_ ). Because losing Jack would be his worst nightmare, and it very nearly came true, and Crutchie wishes he could forget it but he can't because if he forgets, he risks letting it repeat itself once more, _and he can't—_

Can't say a thing, because gentle hands are resting on either side of his face and Jack is kissing him and he's still crying, quiet and still, and there are hands on his cheeks and _Jack is kissing him_ and for a few precious moments he doesn't know what's going on but that's almost okay. He's confused, he's scared and he doesn't know what's happening but Jack is kissing him, their noses are bumping into each other and each second stretches into a millennium and _Jack Kelly is kissing him and he doesn't know why_. He doesn't know why, what does this have to do with anything they've been talking about, he didn't say a damned thing about his feelings _no_ he just told Jack that Santa Fe really meant suicide and two years ago he tried to jump off a roof to find it and _what does any of this have to do with kissing him_?

And Crutchie pulls away. He's a bit breathless (they both are), and there are tears on his cheeks as he stares at Jack with wide eyes, trying to force his voice to work so he can ask the half-million questions racing through his head. He opens his mouth to speak, and is greeted by silence.

To his credit, Jack looks a little apologetic. "Sorry, I, uh— didn't plan on it bein' like _that_. I mean, uh, tonight, I didn't plan on—"

" _What,_ " And finally his voice makes an appearance, cracked with emotion (Crutchie's not sure _which_ because there are about fifty swirling around inside him at the moment) and still slightly at a loss for breath, "Kissin' me? It's fine, _I get it_ , I'se not gonna be offended or nothin'."

Jack blinks for a moment, then two, before smiling weakly and reaching forward to twist his fingers around Crutchie's own once more. "Nah, that was planned on. Just the whole, uh, cryin' part, an' I was kinda hopin' it woulda happened in the Penthouse, since— _y'know_ , crazy me, sky an' stars an' romantic mushy stuff, not, _uh—_ "

"Jack Kelly, is you tryin'a tell me you was _plannin'_ on kissing me tonight?" When Jack nods, part of Crutchie's brain seems to splutter and go blank, because— "Wha— _why? Why in the world_?" 

Because Jack Kelly isn't a queer like him, because Jack Kelly is a ladies man who flirts with Medda's showgirls and makes eyes at women on the street, because Jack Kelly was in love with _Katherine_ (and what sane man _wouldn't_ be, even Crutchie could see that she was more than amazing, stunning and intelligent and unafraid to hold her own). Because Crutchie has _never_ , not even _once_ , told Jack how he feels, because he's known from the start it's a secret he'll just have to hold onto until he dies, because he knows Jack isn't the sort of guy to give someone a pity kiss anyways. _Because—_

"Because I wanted to?" Jack's voice is puzzled, and his hands are warm and gentle, and Crutchie can't look at him _can't open his eyes because this can't be real._ "Because you'se got a smile like the sun itself, an' you'se the kindest person I ever _met_ , an' you'se got a mean left hook to make a fella proud?" Crutchie manages to open his eyes to glance up at Jack, tears already beginning to blossom once more. Even in the dim moonlight filtering in through the window, there's a faint flush creeping across Jack's cheekbones, no doubt reaching to the tips of his ears as well. "Because— uh, well, because I think I'se a bit in love with you, an' I ain't really sure what to _do_ 'bout it, but I— see, it's like Les said, right? You'se my poli— uh, poler— look, you'se the star that guides folks _home_ , yeah? An' I kinda—"

His voice trails off and his eyes fall to their clasped hands, to the dirty bedspread and the warm spots where their legs brush against each other. "—well, I ain't really the type for no fancy words, but I like to think you'se my home now. I mean, uh, if you'se alright with that, I don't wanna— uh, that's to say, _I—_ "

Whatever he was going to say is left to the wanderings of curious minds and lost sentences, because Crutchie has heard more than enough. His cheeks feel warm enough to combust, he's still crying, his head and heart are a jumble of thoughts and feelings and throughout it all, one reality permeates the mess that he's become. _Jack Kelly is in love with him_. A bit in love with him, but _a bit_ is more than _nothing_ , and this isn't something he planned on and he doesn't know what to do about it ( _that makes two of them, then_ ) and his home is his home _is their home_ (could be their home), and it almost feels like the chill of the room has faded away to leave the two of them surrounded by warmth, and—

And Crutchie tugs his hands free so he can grab Jack's face and pull him forward until their lips meet, urgent and a bit confusing and _warm warm warm_. Jack's wandering sentence trails off into a surprised (but not at all displeased) moan-whine sound that seems to come from deep in his throat, and he reaches up to wrap both arms around the small of Crutchie's back and pull him close, closer, _closer_ , until there's no more distance between them. Fingers reaching back to tangle in the shaggy hair at the nape of Jack's neck, Crutchie tilts his head to try for a better angle that Jack seems to reciprocate more than willingly, letting out a pleased hum that seems to create a cascade of vibrations from his lips to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

When they break apart, it's with flushed cheeks and breathless gasps and shy, flustered smiles, and neither of them says a thing (but neither of them need to, because they both almost  _understand_ now). There are still many conversations to be had, and it's not to say that everything is _alright_ now — it's likely that nothing will ever be, entirely, because they're working orphans with dirty hands and crude tongues and low life expectancies — but for now, for _tonight_ , there's nothing more to be said. One day, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week, they will sit down and have a serious discussion about Santa Fe, because even if it's a dream long gone it needs to be talked about, it needs to be put out in the open if just between the two of them. In time, they will have to discuss the future, the future of Crutchie and the future of Jack and _the future of them together_ (and who will join them in that future), because it's difficult to see a future apart. There will be agreements and guidelines and promises to be made and debated and _hopefully not broken_ , but they are for another time.

Tonight, they curl close together under the single ragged blanket, Crutchie's head tucked under Jack's and their arms wound tight around each other. Their breathing slows to matching rhythms, their limbs so entwined that it's hard to tell at a glance where one boy _ends_ and the other _begins_. It's not sexual in any way (there will be time for that _too_ , when they've had their discussions and made their agreements and decided how far they want to go), just the reassuring closeness of feeling one another's skin and heartbeat. The warmth surrounds them, even though the night air is cool, and for just a stolen moment, things are okay.

_(And tomorrow they'll wake up beside each other, Crutchie will laugh and Jack will flush pink to the tips of his ears, and they'll make their way to the circulation gate with their shoulders nearly touching to hide the place where their fingers are tangled together, and things will be okay.)_

**Author's Note:**

> you know what i don't even know what i'm doing. I apologize profusely for the bad description and bad tags and overall not-great, meandering writing. I just kinda started it and then it went places and I let it happen. I'm not sure why I wrote this. Oops.
> 
> But, uh, have some Jackcrutchie that hopefully doesn't make anyone cry? (seriously, I'm worried about the number of people commenting on my newsies stuff saying they're crying/in tears... man, you write one angsty fic, and then...)
> 
> un-beta'd, as always. comments appreciated. 
> 
> (your humble author doesn't know how to write kisses and shit, oops. apologies for my never-dated, only-kissed-someone-for-a-film-project asexual ass, lol)


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